


Keeping Things Fresh

by elestaus



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Male Lactation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elestaus/pseuds/elestaus
Summary: Samothes and Samot have a variety of ways of making sure they never get bored in bed.





	Keeping Things Fresh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imperialhare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialhare/gifts).



> the timeline is all fucked up on this with regard to marielda, cobbins, and the sams’ relationship, but i didn’t realize that until i was most of the way done. please forgive me. time is long and probably weird.

Samothes knew as soon as he turned over in bed that something was wrong. The place where Samot had lain beside him during the night was still warm to the touch, but where his outstretched hand should have met Samot’s skin there were only rumpled bedclothes.

That part was familiar at least. For the better part of every year, the bed he’d built for them to share was his alone. Its size was more than accommodating, even for two, while a single occupant was apt to find it lonely. Such was his intention, he remembered telling Primo when the Artificer Mundane asked if he was sure of the dimensions. Let the bed serve as a reminder of the way things ought to be and punish him for his misplaced priorities whenever the light of his life was absent from the palace.

A single blond hair lay curled on the pillow when at last he opened his eyes. Samothes was used to rising along with the sun, but after last night’s debauch it was a miracle that he’d woken before noon. For a time he lay where he was, soaking in in the late morning sunlight streaming in through the row of huge, stone arches that currently served as windows in the royal chamber. Removing the glass had been a good choice after all, Samothes decided. It was never especially cold on the volcano and this way he could appreciate the breeze carrying scents from the city below.

His city. His city and his people.

Samothes sat up and stretched, allowing the sheets to slide back–

–and in that moment realized that something else had changed from the night before. When he touched his chest, he encountered a pair of smooth metal disks covering both of his nipples, made of gold and fixed in place with magic. The middle of the caps were slightly raised while the edges were almost flush with his skin. It didn’t seem that there was any way to budge them.

Samothes sighed, resigned but not unhappy, and swung himself naked out of bed to cross to the room’s full-length mirror. Samot was serious then. Not that he ever should have doubted him, but at the time it had seemed like even money on whether this particular whim would lead to anything.

Now that he could see himself in the glass, however, he had to admit that the gold made for a visually pleasing addition and there was no denying the way the raised caps drew attention to his chest. A cursory magical analysis lent credence to his earlier suspicion; the spell that prevented him from removing them was designed only to be broken at the caster’s touch. Samothes’ mind turned automatically to consider alternate solutions, mulling over different ways of breaking the spell through ingenuity alone, but he forced himself to abandon that line of thinking. This wasn’t a problem for him to solve.

A minute later the door to the chamber opened and a short, scaly figure edged awkwardly through with a breakfast tray in both its hands.

“Mornin boss,” Primo said, tactfully averting his eyes on seeing Samothes standing naked in front of the mirror. “I went ahead and mixed youse up a couple of hangover cures on account of how much wine was missing when I went to check the cellar. Samot’s whole big arrival, I get it, but you gotta be careful.”

Samothes pulled on a loose-fitting robe before draining one of the two glasses on the tray. He wouldn’t have said he needed the cure – one of Primo’s specialities – but he appreciated his assistant’s show of concern. Cobbins as a species exhibited a natural talent for alchemy that Samothes assumed had something to do with their enhanced sense of smell, a gift he’d more or less taken for granted ever since they first crawled out of the ground.

“Lord Samot may be some time returning,” he explained on seeing Primo peer around him in search of the room’s other occupant. “He expressed a desire to walk among the people below. In disguise of course.”

“Ohh.” Primo’s expression cleared. “That explains the wolf I saw downstairs. Thought it musta been something I ate.”

Samothes spent the day in the forge. It was sweaty work with the heat of the volcano directly below, and on days when no one was around he was used to working practically naked. Today he wore only a pair of close-fitting shorts meant to keep dangling parts out of the way. Primo handled his wardrobe, personal fashion being something of a blind spot for Samothes, and the metallic gold fabric he’d chosen for the shorts was a perfect match for the gold of Samot’s gift. (The Artificer Mundane had been too polite to comment on the nipple caps, of course, but they obviously hadn’t escaped his attention.)

Primo was waiting for him with a tray of letters, reports, and formal petitions when it was time to break for their mid-afternoon meal.

“Hey boss, Lance Noble Violet says that, uh…” he began, and trailed off.

Samothes wiped the sweat from his brow. Following the direction of Primo’s gaze left little doubt as to the cause of his distraction. Before, he’d been too caught up in his hammering to notice, but now that he’d stopped to catch his breath Samothes could feel it too.

“What does the Lance require of me, Primo?” he demanded, unable to keep the impatience out of his voice. “Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it after washing.”

“Sure thing boss. No big deal. Says here she can handle it herself and just wanted to keep you abreast, er, er, up to date, that is. The rest is all junk,” Primo said as he retreated with his stack of letters.

The palace baths were a feat of engineering unmatched in all of Hieron, so far as Samothes knew, an expansive complex of heated pools, hissing steam pipes, and ornamental brass where visitors could relax in a manner befitting guests in God’s house. He knew Primo was in the habit of coming here to ease the pain in his joints after a long day of work and whenever Samothes trained in the attached gymnasium he made of a point of finishing with an extended stay in the steam room, followed by an invigorating plunge into one of the cold pools, but there was nothing so rigorous called for now.

Instead, Samothes found a spot on a bench where he could examine himself without being disturbed. Where previously his chest had been merely well-defined, now his pecs were larger than what he could easily cup with his hands. This was more than the usual amount of temporary swelling that came after a period of strenuous labor. His muscles didn’t feel sore – not exactly anyway – but there was a subtle, yet insistent pressure building inside him.

Samothes chewed his lip in thought. If the tingling in his chest was anything to go by then he still hadn’t seen the full extent of what Samot had planned for him. Careful probing confirmed that there was still no way for him to remove the gold nipple caps. His pecs were almost as firm as before, despite the increase in size, and newly sensitive to touch in a way that left him more aroused than uncomfortable. Samothes tried gently squeezing one, resulting in a trickle of milk from under the cap on that side.

That settled it. It was the same when he repeated the experiment on the other side as well, but continued attempts provided no further relief, as if doing so had led the caps to affix themselves more firmly in order to keep him from tampering with what Samot had set in motion. By this point his cock had started to stiffen, so Samothes hurried through some cursory ablutions and left before he could get even more distracted.

Samothes tried to distract himself from the growing sense of fullness with thoughts of work over the course of his meal with Primo.

“What would it take to build a machine that expedites the process of milking?” he mused aloud.

There was the clatter of Primo dropping his fork at the other end of the table. Samothes hadn’t stopped to consider how obvious the inspiration for his current train of thought must be, now that he was back to wearing only an open-fronted robe over another, identical pair of shorts, but there was nothing for it now.

“Cobbins don’t really lactate,” Primo explained, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin as if to cover his embarrassment, “so I don’t know if there’s any insight I can give on your, uh, current problem.”

Samothes narrowed his eyes. “The machine would be for livestock. Something to improve efficiency on farms and ease the lives of my people.”

“I could get you some cows from the city if you need test subjects,” Primo hastened to offer.

“No, no.” Samothes held up a hand. “Let them keep their cattle for now. I’ll inform you if the need arises.”

Primo cleared his throat nervously. “Sorry, boss. I know you don’t like me mentioning it, but you remember what I said last time about the dangers of testing–”

A hard look silenced him.

“The idea is on hold,” Samothes said, bringing an end to the conversation.

All the same, he couldn’t help imagining what it might feel like having such a machine hooked up to him instead, something with a set of attachments designed to mimic the suction of a mouth or the rhythmic tugging of a farmer’s hands. The thought alone was enough to bring a flush to his cheeks.

Samothes didn’t need to look down at himself as he left the table to know that his condition had worsened since his trip to the baths. It was as if that first attempt at milking himself had provided enough encouragement to quicken the changes effecting his body, though whether that was the direct result of the spell or a more natural response to stimulation, he couldn’t say. In either case he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out now that he was having to contend with a strange shortness of breath on top of everything else. Where was Samot?

After the meal Samothes retreated to their shared bedroom to wait. At first all he could was pace with an occasional glance at his reflection in the room’s only mirror. There was no mistaking the way his swollen pecs caused the open front of his robe to gape more than usual, exposing a greater degree of skin. If it weren’t for the natural broadness of his torso and all the effort that had gone into honing his ideal physique it would doubtless look as though he’d grown breasts. Even so…

Samothes stopped when he felt the wetness under his fingertips. It was only a trickle seeping out from under the caps, just like before, but this time it hadn’t taken any additional prompting for him to start leaking. Whatever seal was responsible for holding back his milk must have weakened, either as a result of time running out on the spell or the fact that he’d reached as much as he could hold. Judging by the feeling of weight in his chest he was leaning towards the latter. Samothes could smell it now too in a way he hadn’t before, an odd sort of sweetness filling the room.

It didn’t take long for him to reach a decision. The robe was already damp in spots, so off it came. Samothes draped it over the back of a chair before dragging the chair itself in front of the mirror for a better look at what he was doing. That left only the shorts, shiny gold fabric stretched around his slowly stiffening cock as he sat with hands gripping his knees. Samot hadn’t left him any explicit instructions; obviously the nipple caps were there for a reason, but by this point Samothes didn’t see that he had a choice. Not when he felt this desperately full.

This time he was in a position to watch himself as he worked his hands over his chest. The sight of him sitting with legs spread and bare feet braced against the floor while milk flowed from under the nipple caps soon brought his cock to full hardness, neglected as it was. With some persistent kneading, Samothes found he could coax the dribbles of milk into stronger rivulets that left sticky trails in the thick, dark hair that covered his body, but whenever he ceased his attentions the seal on the caps was able to reassert itself.

Samothes bit his lip and closed his eyes. It wasn’t enough. The small amount of milk he was able to wring out with the caps still in place wasn’t doing anything to address his larger problem and at this rate the unnatural speed his breasts were producing it probably meant he’d be full again the moment he stopped.

“Dearest, really?” asked a familiar voice from nearby.

Samot was visible standing behind him when Samothes looked back at the mirror. He didn’t have to turn his head to know that he was alone in the room, but he still felt the hand on his shoulder. Samot’s long blond hair was pinned back on one side with a silver hair ornament, something that hadn’t been there when he left, and there was a touch more color in his cheeks than Samothes was used to seeing, an indication that the sun in Marielda had done him some good.

“Please,” Samothes begged. There was no point in trying to hide his desperation. Not after having Samot effectively walk in on him like this.

“That’s it? No questions about my day? The places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen?” Samot pouted as he stepped behind the chair. When he got to the other side he leaned in to whisper in Samothes’ ear. “The people who fucked me while you were stuck at home?”

Samothes swallowed hard at the thought of there being more than one possible explanation for the flush in Samot’s complexion. There was no way of telling how serious he was, but if anything his cock was throbbing even more insistently now.

“I’m surprised at you,” Samot said, stepping back. “I thought you knew how to be patient, but I suppose this means I’ll have to come there in person.”

Frost spread across the surface of the mirror, pinpricks blossoming into intricate, geometric patterns that grew until it was impossible to make out anything but vague shapes reflected in the glass. Samothes heard soft footsteps in the room behind him, followed by the clink of someone setting a small, metal object down on one of the tables, presumably the silver hair ornament. When he tried to stand Samothes found he couldn’t stir from his position in the chair, and a moment later he felt the tickle of Samot’s hair on his neck as slender arms embraced him from behind.

“There was a butcher’s stall in the market. I was only passing, but he called me over, gave me a chop, and said I was the most beautiful dog he’d ever seen,” Samot said while tracing delicate circles around the gold nipple caps. “Well, you know me. After that I had to show him my gratitude. Let him see another side of me, as it were. If this were my city I’d have him dressed in silks and brought up to join us. Some men are too handsome to waste their lives as butchers.”

Samot moved around to the front of the chair. Behind him, the mirror had started to clear, giving Samothes a different perspective on what was happening as Samot knelt between his legs and rubbed his cheek against the outline of his trapped erection.

“Afterwards I met a pair of soldiers, or mercenaries rather,” Samot said, violet eyes glinting up at him all the while. “Not the type for silks and sashes, I shouldn’t think. Their roughness was part of their charm. It was nice getting screwed from both ends, but the best had to be the werewolf I ran into on the way back.”

As he spoke, Samot brushed his hair back with one hand, exposing a set of fading bite marks on the upper part of his shoulder that Samothes definitely didn’t leave.

“Samot,” he growled.

Samot stood up innocently and walked behind him again. Samothes remained where he was for a second or two before realizing he could move again, and got up to follow him. His hands found Samot’s waist just as he was stepping out of his clothes at the foot of the bed. Samot was slim enough that Samothes’ thumbs almost met at the small of his back whenever he held him like this. Being the taller one also meant he had to bend slightly at the knee in order to press his cock against Samot’s ass. At that point all he wanted was to claim it as he had the night before, drowning whatever foreign seed might have been sown there in the hours since.

For a moment, Samot’s body slackened, giving way to temptation at the prospect as Samothes ran his hands possessively over his front while fervently kissing his neck on and around the bite marks. They both knew this was a possible turning point, an opportunity for them to veer from the script. But then.

“Enough,” Samot cut in. “Get on the bed.”

Samothes mastered himself with an effort and did as he was told, crawling on top of the covers with his head facing away.

“On your back,” Samot instructed, and Samothes obliged.

Samot climbed onto the bed to kneel between his spread legs once more. In contrast with Samothes’ gold shorts and nipple caps, Samot was fully naked now, pale and beautiful in the moonlight with blond hair falling loose around his shoulders. Samothes wanted nothing more than to pull him onto his lap and fuck him until he could barely walk, but that wasn’t how this worked.

“I know how needy you are. How badly you must want your turn,” Samot said as he rubbed Samothes through the shorts.

“Please–” Samothes couldn’t stop himself from trying again.

“And so polite,” Samot teased. “I didn’t tell you how good it felt to finally get the knot again, did I? That werewolf had me tied to him for over an hour. I wish you had something that could satisfy me like that.”

Samot stopped rubbing, leaving Samothes to squirm at the sudden lack of contact while he appeared to consider to situation. “Still, you were so patient waiting for me at home that I suppose I owe you something. How does this sound? You can either fuck me as long and as hard as you want, or…”

Samot trailed off, letting the moment hang, although Samothes thought he could guess what was coming next.

“Or I can give you the milking you need,” Samot finished at last.

Samothes groaned and briefly pressed his hips up pitifully towards him before subsiding, crushed. He knew what Samot wanted to hear. Even knowing the rules of this game, it was still painful to see the prospect dangled in front of him before having it yanked away.

“Please can you take the caps off?” he asked eventually, more huskily than intended.

Samot frowned. “You’ll have to do better than that. I need you to tell me exactly what you want, dear heart.”

Samothes wet his lips, unsure if he could actually make himself say the words, but the prospect of going without relief if he failed left him little choice.

“Will you please milk me?” he asked instead.

That earned him a smile of approval. Samot leaned over Samothes’ body, where a light touch was all it took for him to remove the nipple caps. It was the first time Samothes had seen what changes lay behind the raised, golden disks. His nipples had grown along with his pecs, bigger and fatter now with beads of milk already forming at the tips, forced out solely as a result of the rise and fall of his chest.

Samot tugged lightly on one with his fingertips and Samothes’ back jerked at the intensity of the pleasure accompanying the short spurt of milk. Nothing had prepared him for the increase in sensitivity that must have come along with the spell.

“Careful,” Samot warned before doing the same to Samothes’ other nipple.

Despite bracing himself, Samothes couldn’t suppress an audible gasp at the second tug. That strange, sweet scent he’d noticed earlier was stronger now that his milk was flowing freely. Samothes tried pushing his chest up into Samot’s hands, but Samot had already backed off, and he was just as powerless to guide or hurry him as before.

A strand of Samot’s hair had fallen out of place, tickling him in spots while Samot lavished attention on the rest of his body, starting with a trail of kisses that lead down his stomach before moving on to kiss and nuzzle his inner thighs. Samothes could feel the warmth of Samot’s breath on his cock through the thin material imprisoning it. This time there were no magical restraints holding him back. It would be so easy for him to take Samot by the back of the head and press his face against the straining bulge, or better yet to yank the waistband down and fuck his pretty throat until there were tears in his eyes.

Instead he lay as still as he could. If he was obedient, if he was patient, then maybe–

The way Samot smiled at him on returning to his chest suggested he knew. Once there, Samot conjured a small piece of ice from nowhere and used it to draw a line down Samothes’ side, making him start at the sudden chill. (In spite of how quickly the ice seemed to melt on contact with his overheated skin, it never fully dissolved.) Samothes had learned to be on his guard for this sort of thing ever since the week where Samot had edged him mercilessly and without cessation, holding ice to his skin whenever it seemed he was about to come, but from time to time it still caught him by surprise.

The cold caused his nipples to stiffen when Samot traced circles around them, protruding obscenely in their already swollen state. Samothes’ blush deepened at the sight, mortified at the extent to which he’d allowed Samot to alter his body purely for the sake of his own pleasure, but that was part of the game too. If the thought didn’t make his heart race as well – if it didn’t feel as if he were close to bursting out of his shorts – then none of this would have happened.

The heat of Samot’s mouth was almost too much after the ice. Samothes nearly shouted, clutching at handfuls of covers to keep himself from interfering as Samot nursed from him on one side and deft fingers tugged gently at the opposite teat, drawing out a steady stream of milk that risked staining the bedclothes. Samot didn’t wait long before switching sides, making sure to spread an even amount of attention across the whole of Samothes’ chest. It was too much. It was too much. It–

Samothes came, grunting as his hips jerked helplessly and come seeped through the material of his shorts. With every pulse of his cock his nipples spurted as well, leaking milk until the spurts became dribbles and it finally felt as if he’d given all that he had.

“You may be dealing with the effects of that spell for a while,” Samot told him as they lay together in the afterglow, basking with one hand laid on Samothes’ chest.

“How long, exactly?” Samothes asked in mild concern.

“It’s hard to say,” Samot admitted. “Some time after I leave.”

Samothes sighed. It seemed he’d have to follow up with Primo about building that milking machine after all.


End file.
